Past Missteps and Promises
by Iced Blood
Summary: Oneshot. "Good Intentions" universe. It's been a long time since Seto Kaiba has thought back on his time at an old, downtrodden orphanage. He's moved on since then. Become someone else. But what about the people who knew him, way back then? How have they turned out? And what, if any, unfinished business might they have with one of Domino City's most illustrious young celebrities?


_**A long while back (longer than I would ever like to admit), I got a request.**_

 _ **Those of you who have been following my YGO stories for a while may recognize the name David Whittaker. He's a longstanding OC of mine from the pre-canon timeline, back when Seto and Mokuba were staying at that there orphanage (which I refer to as the Domino Children's Home). In every scene I've ever placed him, David has been an antagonist. Remember that scene in the anime when Mokuba is trying to take back that toy plane of his, and these older kids are laughing at him, and Seto shows up and tackles one of 'em?**_

 _ **I'm not saying David was one of those kids, but I am saying he's ... of their ilk, so to speak.**_

 _ **In any case, the request was some insight on what it would be like if David were to show up in Seto's and Mokuba's lives again, later on, in the canon timeline.**_

 _ **I asked a new friend, from over at "Kick a Hole in the Sky," to help me with this.**_

 _ **Now, then. I believe that's enough in the way of logistics.**_

 _ **This story is for Queen Shadowclan. I hope you enjoy it.**_

 _ **Sorry again for the atrocious delay.**_

* * *

 **1.**

* * *

David stumbles through the front door long after midnight, and it no longer counts as a surprise.

Elliana doesn't think of herself as a judgmental person, and that's one reason why she's refrained, so far, from harping on David for his tendency to come and go at whatever hours suit his rambling moods, and the fucked-out work schedules that every entry-level retail worker seems to get saddled with. But this is the sixth time this month she's been woken out of a dead sleep by him clomping around the living room in his stupid boots, and she's _just about_ to let out the fury she's been walling in ever since they got this apartment—cheap, ramshackle thing that it is, with its thin walls and thinner carpets—when she gets a good look at his face.

He's not drunk. That's one thing Elliana has to give David: he doesn't drink.

Doesn't smoke, either.

In fact, David doesn't do much of anything. It takes too much damn _money_ to do much of anything. Domino City is an expensive place to live, and they've had to make more compromises just to survive than most people could conjure up in a lifetime. It's given David's face this slumped, tired look; even when he's wide awake, even on the rare-upon-rare times that he's actually _excited_ about something, there's this malaise of fatigue.

Tonight, he looks more than fatigued. He looks sick.

More than that . . . he looks _plagued_.

"Dave?" Elliana asks tentatively, detecting fear in her own voice and kind of hating it. He responds with a grunt that doesn't count for much. "Yo. Davie. C'mon. What's up? You look like you just . . ." Elliana stops herself. She thinks of a bunch of things she could say in this moment— _ **You look like your grandma just died . . . again**_ and _**You look like you just found a dead puppy . . . again**_ —and realizes there isn't much of a point to finishing that sentence. It would do her precious few favors, and it'd do _him_ even fewer.

David flops onto the couch, stares up at the ceiling for a moment, then closes his eyes.

"I saw _him_ today," he says.

"Him?" Elliana puts on a questioning face. "Which _him_? There's a whole lotta _hims_ in this city. All accounts, _you're_ a him."

David half-scoffs, half-chuckles. "You know."

Elliana blinks. "C'mon, man, I'ven't been awake long enough for this. Who in the f—"

" _Yagami_." David opens his eyes and stares at her. "I saw Yagami. Er . . . well—oh, fuck it, you know what I mean."

She does.

And all of a sudden, she realizes why David looks like he does. It isn't fatigue, or sickness, or _anything_ like that, on his face right now. David isn't tired. David doesn't have the stomach flu, or food poisoning. David's embarrassed.

Embarrassed, and grief-stricken.

"Seto Kaiba," Elliana whispers softly, and David flinches. "King of Domino's Upper Crust." She thinks of a certain pizza chain that fired her a few years back for smoking in the kitchen, and chuckles privately to herself.

 _ **I'm so punny**_ , Elliana thinks suddenly, and damn near laughs out loud. She bites the inside of her cheek.

Better if she doesn't, all things considered.

David tosses himself forward and hangs his head like a man praying. "A'yup. That'd be the guy."

"How long's it been?" Elliana asks, leaning against the door-frame that leads into their pitiful little kitchen. "What, fuckin' . . . seven years? Eight? Jesus. Where'd you come across _him_?"

"Some coffee shop," David says dismissively. "He's there with his brother. Kid likes chai lattes, I guess. I dunno. I'm stoppin' in there for a muffin. Y'know. Breakfast o' champions, right? And they're just . . . _there_. Happy's you please. Just . . . standin' in line. Signing autographs for people and just . . . _there_."

Elliana tries to remember the Yagami brothers—now, of course, the _Kaiba_ brothers—and has a hard time picturing anything of the elder past a yellow button-up shirt, a blue sweater-vest and scuffed-up sneakers. The little one is even fuzzier. All she can conjure for _him_ is that head of bushy black hair.

"They see you?"

"Kid didn't," David says idly. " _He_ did, though. Stared at me. Stared _into_ me. He—he recognized me, Ellie."

. . . Oh.

It's not embarrassment, either.

Well, shit, she's batting zero tonight.

It's _terror_ in David Whittaker's face right now.

And Elliana McAllister isn't sure she can blame him.

She knows Seto Kaiba's reputation as well as anyone. Elliana knows, just like David knows, that he always keeps a pistol under his jacket. And Elliana knows, just like David knows, that he isn't shy about using it.

At all.

* * *

 **2.**

* * *

The next morning, after barely dozing for an hour, David is up and getting ready. Elliana has no choice but to get up, too, even though _she_ doesn't have anywhere to be until upwards of seven this evening, because her roommate is _freaking loud_.

Their apartment is tiny. Four rooms, if you count the criminally small bathroom. Five, if you're _really_ delusional and count the laundry room. There's only one bedroom, which David has graciously offered to Elliana—owing to the fact that she pays more of their monthly expenses than he can. David's bedroom is the living room; his bed is the couch.

It isn't what you'd call luxurious, but it's a roof. It's walls, and a stove, and a fridge.

Whenever Elliana starts thinking about how much her living situation sucks out loud, she reminds herself of how many friends she's had over the years who'd literally kill for something even remotely close to it. Some of them, she remembers on some of the darker occasions, actually _have_.

David's taking longer than usual, and Elliana eventually tosses herself up into a standing position and pokes her head into the doorway.

He's shaving. Very, _very_ carefully.

David Whittaker grew up, and so far he's lived his entire life, in that state of being that basically says you jump out of bed in the morning, throw some half-clean shit on your body, and rush out the door; social etiquette and general upkeep be damned. When he was a kid, he'd wear the same tank-top shirt for a week.

Would've gone even longer than that, Elliana is sure, except the social workers usually put their foot down by Sunday, and forced him to change. He's better now—he _has_ to be—but he's still never been all that good at taking care of himself.

Elliana raises an eyebrow and watches. "Got a spot there by your left ear, Davie. Careful. Last time you nicked yourself there, you didn't stop bleeding for, like, two days."

"Six hours," David mutters, but he swipes his razor across the spot when Elliana points it out, and rolls his eyes when she adjusts the collar of his shirt. "Thanks, _Mom_. Y'know, Ellie, you're only . . . like, what, six months older 'n me? This _senpai_ shit ain't cute."

Elliana smirks, winks, and smacks David on the shoulder as he slips past her. "I happen to think I'm _adorable_." She follows David out of the bedroom, through the adjoining kitchen, and into the front room. She hops onto a chair and studies the boy she's been living with for the past six months. "What's with the straight-laced routine, Davie? Got a date?"

David rolls his eyes. "Yagami's wearin' a frickin thousand-dollar suit to a coffee shop," he mutters under his breath. Elliana wonders if he'll ever stop calling the richest man in the hemisphere by his birth name; probably not. She wonders if _she'll_ ever stop calling the richest man in the hemisphere by his birth name; probably not. "Figure I ain't got no excuse."

Elliana chuckles. "That's . . . the cutest thing I've ever heard." David flashes a glare at her. "Well. Go get 'em, killer. Hey, you get paid today, right?" David nods shortly. "Pick up some milk, wouldja?"

"Got it."

She claps him on the back as he heads out the door. "Oi! I'm on kitchen duty, so you got laundry when you get back!"

David holds up a hand without turning back. "Got it," he says again.

" _Walking Dead_ tonight!"

This makes him turn to look over his shoulder at her. He smirks, holds up his hand again, makes a fist. "Rock on," he says, and chuckles as he stuffs his hands into his pockets and heads down the street.

Elliana may only have six months on him, but she can't help but feel a twinge of pride for David.

She tries to remember the raging shit-storm he'd been as a kid . . . and can't quite do it.

* * *

 **3.**

* * *

Elliana hasn't gone by "Ellie" since a stint in juvie when she was sixteen, but sometimes she still _feels_ like Ellie. Like when she leans up against a wall with a **No Smoking Within 20 Feet of This Building** sign on it, cigarette hanging from her fingers as she's trying to blow rings and basically just be a juvenile delinquent even though she's well into her twenties.

She dresses like a felon, walks like a felon, talks like a felon . . . the only thing she _doesn't_ do—anymore—is actually commit felonies.

Is that because of David? Maybe.

Elliana isn't sure.

Setting a good example has never been all that high on her to-do list, but somehow she just can't bring herself to mess up her roommate's decent streak. That Whittaker Boy might not be mistaken for high society, and he probably never will be, but that doesn't mean he hasn't reformed. It doesn't mean he hasn't fought tooth and proverbial nail against the same "thuggish" stereotypes in which he used to bury himself.

He never _did_ get adopted. David was one of those foster kids that _stayed_ a foster kid until he turned that magical corner into eighteen, and Elliana can't help but marvel at the fact that _he's_ stayed out of trouble with the law better than _she_ has, even though she'd always been pegged as one of those Assholes with a Heart of Gold™ . . . and he'd just been pegged as an asshole.

David Whittaker has more reason than most people to lash out at society.

The fact that he hasn't . . . well. Elliana supposes that's the main reason she snuffs out her cigarette with the toe of one shoe and jogs to catch up with the Kaiba brothers when _she_ happens across them, some three days after David's run-in.

Elliana doesn't miss the fact that Big Daddy Kaiba is dressed in a suit that's tailored specifically to emphasize his lean, angular form with the kind of precision that only comes from _several_ thousand dollars, and that's on top of the right connections. His shoes gleam like bullets as they click against the sidewalk. His long coat goes right past high school goth and straight into super-villain. Everything about him is sharp, somehow. Even his eyes—actually, _specifically_ his eyes—look like they could cut right down to the bone.

Baby Kaiba is dressed more casually, but no less _well_. His jeans, t-shirt and sneakers probably would have drained dry one of Elliana's paychecks without so much as a how-do-you-do.

If Elliana were a tad more vindictive than she is, or a touch more bitter than David is, she'd probably be offended.

She wipes her hands on the insides of her pockets; remembering, oddly, the cobwebs she'd gotten on her hands from running the gate shut on its track as she left the apartment complex she called home. She has an absurd thought that her skin will bubble up and catch fire if she _dares_ approach these royal scions in such a state. She scrambles to come up with an opening line as she vaults up to their pace.

"A fair morn and a jolly disposition, I say, my good men of the golden hour," is what she says. Sassy sarcasm isn't just _in_ Elliana's wheelhouse; it _is_ her wheelhouse. She offers a jaunty little bow with this, practically skipping until Seto stops walking and Mokuba stops with him.

The boy blinks. "Niisama?" he asks; the kid's clearly surprised that Seto's bothered to stop at all.

 _Still calling him that, Niisama, after so many years,_ Elliana finds herself thinking. She's surprised at how much that affects her.

Elliana dares a glance at the man's blue eyes.

". . . McAllister."

"So they tell me," she offers, standing straight and grinning. "Surprised you remember me, Yagami. Small world!"

Seto's face twists into something Elliana can't read; which is impressive, since reading people is something she's always prided herself on being _good_ at. "I remember," Seto says slowly. "Kristine called you her own private thunderstorm."

Elliana offers a lopsided little chuckle. "That right? Huh. You still talk to Mama Hathaway?"

"She's the director now," Seto offers, almost conversationally.

"Yeah? Good deal! She weren't easy to deal with, but . . . well. Anyway. Ain't much for small talk. You may not be tappin' your foot, Yagami, but may's well be. Listen, wanted to talk atcha, if I could?" Mokuba still looks confused; Elliana winks at him. "Mind if I borrow the big man for a second?"

Mokuba blinks. "Uh . . ."

Seto deliberates for a moment, then gestures. Sharply, just like the rest of him.

And that, as they are wont to say, is that.

* * *

 **4.**

* * *

"What's your general stance on David?"

Seto blinks. Of all the things this girl from the misty shadows of his past might ask him, this is one of the few that he _hadn't_ anticipated. Especially when he factors in the tone of voice, and the look on her face; it isn't that of an enemy, or a lover, or anything in between.

Elliana McAllister looks like she may as well have a clipboard in hand, ticking things off on a checklist. Despite her old jeans and her older jacket, she has the look of a social worker.

"I don't _have_ one," Seto says shortly. "David Whittaker is someone with whom I used to share a . . . home. I have never seen reason to expound upon that. As far as I can tell, neither has he."

Elliana flinches. Seto wonders if she is aware of his reputation. If she's bothered to follow his rise to the top of Domino City's socio-economic dog-pile. Seto has long since grown tired of people being _surprised_ at his behavior, in public or otherwise; it's not as though he's ever been anything different.

Seto Kaiba has always been a survivor, first and foremost. He has never been inclined toward niceties when discussing old wounds.

Elliana recovers quicker than most. She gathers herself. "Turns out I inherited that _share a home_ bit. We got ourselves an apartment out on Backfire Gulch."

Seto knows the area. It's one of Domino's poorest districts, named for the less-than-habitable soundtrack of gunshots and shouts-that-might-be-screams that tend to haunt its nights.

Seto doesn't allow Mokuba to walk those streets, for any reason. Despite Joey Wheeler's insistence that the gulch's resident field general and _de facto_ owner—Kenzou Hirutani—would know better than to _ever_ allow his boys to harass the young Kaiba, Seto has no intention of trusting the honor of a man he's never met on the subject of his brother's safety.

"Seems he came across you two," Elliana continues, looking vaguely nervous for a moment. "Made kind of an . . . impression, I guess. Seems he thinks you've still got it in for him. I guess I just wanted to know. Y'know. If you did."

Seto closes his eyes for a moment. Tells himself to let it go. To ignore the old dragon, uncoiling behind his eyes to breathe fire. But he can't. Not fully. He has to settle for letting smoke out through his teeth, because it's as close to neutral as he can manage today.

"If I had a full, uninterrupted week, I wouldn't be able to sufficiently explain to you how insignificant David Whittaker is on my list of grievances." Elliana flinches again. "I have warlords plotting assassination attempts on a common enough basis that there's need for a _standard protocol_. I invite you to wonder how many different threats have their sights leveled on my brother. And I further invite you to wonder whether or not I still lose sleep over the boy who used to steal his toys and push him into the dirt."

Elliana screws up her face. Lowers her eyes. Kicks at the sidewalk. ". . . That bad, huh? I mean, y'know. Bein' high-profile. Top of the mountain makes it easy for folks to aim atcha. Right?"

Seto forces himself to calm. "Yes."

". . . Look. This might seem weird, but . . . d'ya think . . . maybe . . . I dunno, maybe David could talk to you guys? For his own sake. I know that seems weird. And honestly? Wouldn't blame you if you turned around right now, took yer brother and never _looked_ at the two of us again." Seto doesn't bother to mention that he's considering doing just that. "Look. Lots of kids make stupid mistakes when they're teenagers, and sometimes it leaves scars on other folks' backs. Sometimes they wanna make amends. Whether they deserve to or not. Know what I mean?"

Seto blinks again. Against his own will, he finds himself saying: "I think I do."

"We could set up an appointment or somethin'. Just a quick visit, wherever you want. He sits down, talks a bit, stumbles a bit . . . we part ways. He's makin' strides, and I think this would help him finally put the past to bed. I think it'd help him. And . . . well. Since you said this stuff don't really matter to _you_ anymore . . ."

There are too many thoughts that rear up and threaten to drown Seto Kaiba in this moment. Too many old regrets, too many old mistakes. The dragon behind his eyes is dumbfounded.

And so he says, ". . . Fine."

* * *

 **5.**

* * *

David finds himself, unwittingly, sitting in the front parlor of the illustrious Kaiba Estate the next Sunday, dressed in the nicest clothes he has—black jeans, motorcycle boots, and a vaguely formal button-up shirt—like he thinks he's gone to church. Elliana, for her part, opts for a simple black dress and high boots that don't exactly match the look the dress is probably _meant_ for, but she thinks they look pretty boss, so she wears them anyway.

"I don't know why you _did_ this, Ellie," David hisses at her. He's tried to comb his dirty blond hair, but its current length is just scraggly enough to make the attempt look about as ludicrous as a chess club cliché at Senior Prom.

He's getting better at the shaving thing, though.

A young woman in a dark blue suit brings them each a glass of cola, smiles brightly at them, and asks if they'd like anything else while they wait. Seto-sama is on the phone at the moment, he should be done shortly.

They both decline.

"Seto-sama," David mutters.

"'S a title," Elliana says.

"I _know_ that," David snaps. "I'm not a plebe, okay? I took a semester or two o' Japanese over at Westridge. It's just . . . frickin' weird."

Elliana smirks. "Yeah. Kinda is."

Seto arrives in the parlor some minutes later. He's in charcoal slacks and a dark sweater today. While it's casual compared to what both David _and_ Elliana assume to be his standard attire, the slacks are still ironed to such a state that the creases qualify as weapons.

"I trust Yoshimi has accommodated you," he says.

"Uh . . . yeah," Elliana offers. "'S all good."

Seto sits in a chair off to one side of the couch that his guests are sharing, leans back, and rests one leg crossed over the knee of the other. "From what Miss McAllister tells me," he says, and they're both struck by the way his voice seems to have a sentient, but quiet, sense of malice hidden in it, "you remember our . . . time at the children's home as much as I do."

David squirms. ". . . Y-Yeah. Um . . . look, I don't got any way to say this without sounding like a frickin' jackass, so I guess I'm just gonna have to accept that I'm a frickin' jackass. There's no excuse for what I did. What I _was_. You two was just as lonely and fucked up as I was, but I guess I had this idea in my head that since you were _two_ , 'stead of one, that made things . . . worse for _me_."

Seto is studying David like he isn't sure what to label him in his thoughts.

He doesn't speak.

"So I guess . . . I just wanted a chance to . . . let you know I'm sorry. You _and_ your brother. We should'a been family. But I went 'n drew a line in the sand."

Elliana helped David work through his thoughts for this speech. They've gone back and forth, around and around, about it for days. The practice doesn't seem to have done much good, but Elliana is pretty sure that has to do with the way Seto is looking at him. Seto's gleaming blue eyes make it seem like there isn't a damn body in the world except him and David Whittaker right now, and even though that cobalt stare isn't directed at _her_ , Elliana has this unconscious need to straighten up.

It's like she's in the principal's office . . . again.

Seto sits that way, legs crossed and hands in his lap, for two full minutes. Then he plants both feet on the floor, leans forward, clasps his hands between his knees. ". . . I'm going to be honest with you, David. I haven't thought about you in years. I can tell just by looking at you that you're worried. I would guess you're worried that you've left some indelible stain on us, and that you will never be able to repent. But . . . that just isn't true."

Seto's next words chill Elliana to the bone. David, for his part, looks horrified.

"Your actions . . . were quite literally some of the _least_ harrowing experiences of my childhood."

* * *

 **6.**

* * *

They walk down the hall, all three of them. Seto leads, then David, and Elliana finds herself in back. She doesn't know what to think right now. She supposes, if she'd supposed _anything_ , that Seto's apathy was some sort of defense mechanism against David. Like . . . he doesn't get angry about it because if he _lets_ himself get angry about it, he'll explode and take half the city with him. That he's only _able_ to do that because there are other things that demand his attention.

It's never occurred to her that the reason Seto Kaiba doesn't care about David Whittaker is because he's so low on Seto's innumerable list of traumas that he's basically a non-entity.

She looks around the house, and wonders how much blood bought it. How many scars does Seto Kaiba have? What put that manic gleam in his eyes that he probably thinks she can't see? What put that steel in his spine? What transformed him from a nerdy kid in a yellow polo shirt and old khakis to a corporate monolith of cold savagery and spite?

. . . Okay, that last one isn't hers. She read it in a magazine once.

Seto stops in the hallway. "Listen to me," he says, "the both of you. Mokuba doesn't remember either of you." He eyes David, as if to encapsulate _just_ how little an impact he made on their lives. "He knows that you used to live at the DCH at the same time we did, but his memories are—limited. I understand that you came here with the intent to apologize . . . but I'm going to advise against that with him."

Elliana and David both understand, immediately, what this means.

Seto isn't giving them advice right now. He's giving an order.

"He has enough to deal with," Seto goes on. His hands are in his pockets, and Elliana thinks of holstered guns. "He doesn't need the past being ripped open. To him, you both are simply old roommates." He takes a step toward David, unsheathes one hand, and puts it on his shoulder. "This is a second chance for you, David Whittaker. If you would truly bury your old self, then here is how you can do it. Instead of reminding him of an old tormentor . . . introduce him to a new friend. Can you do that?"

David blinks. Stares. Then a sunny little smile breaks on his face, and he actually laughs. "Yeah. Yagami. I think I can do that."

"You _do_ know my name is Kaiba," Seto intones softly.

". . . Yeah. Sorry. Gonna take some gettin' used to."

* * *

 **7.**

* * *

The first thing Mokuba Kaiba does, upon being (re)introduced to David Whittaker, is to invite him to sit down and play _Super Smash Bros._ with him. No preamble, no questions, no mistrust.

Nothing. Just an open smile and sparkling eyes.

Elliana stands in the doorway to the Kaibas' game room, next to Seto, and wonders if she's going to cry. She looks at Seto Kaiba. He's smirking. But his eyes have softened.

". . . You try so hard to be a hard-ass . . . but you're just a little sweetheart, aren't you, Yagami?"

* * *

 **END.**

* * *

 _ **Elliana "Ellie" McAllister sneaked up on me when I was writing "Kick a Hole in the Sky." But being as how that story is a pretty heavy AU scenario, I was left wondering what she would end up like, in the canon universe where she and Seto probably had next to nothing to do with each other? Turns out, their interactions aren't all that different.**_

 _ **At least, on her side of things.**_

 _ **This story started as a piece about David, but it ended up being about Seto, too. I've been introduced to a lot of interpretations of Seto since joining the Tumblr community (look me up, if you're so inclined, under the name 'iced-blood'), and I think this story ended up allowing me, without realizing it, to really figure out my own.**_

 _ **To wit ... Seto isn't unrepentant, he doesn't hold grudges forever, and yet ... well, even though he's evened out a bit post-canon, he's still got that old bite to him.**_

 _ **I'm rather pleased about that, to be honest.**_

 _ **(Also, that last scene was just for me; readers of "Sky" will probably recognize it)**_


End file.
